


The Unity Dance

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Earth survives, F/M, Fluff, S5 Canon Divergence, party awkwardness, party time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27608663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which a dance is held to celebrate a Shallow Valley peace treaty.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 17
Kudos: 107





	The Unity Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnlyZouzou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyZouzou/gifts).



> Huge thanks to Zou for this prompt and to Stormkpr for betaing as always. Here's a fic set in some canon-divergent world where Clarke signs a peace treaty in S5 and all our faves settle in Shallow Valley. Happy reading!

Clarke isn't looking forward to the ball.

She understands why it has to happen. It's the perfect way of celebrating the Shallow Valley peace treaty – a seamless blend of all the Unity Day dances from the Ark, and the grounder tradition of marking pace deals with formal wear and music. She understands, too, that the Eligius prisoners grew up in a society where celebrations revolved around dancing and drinking. So yes, a social occasion to bring everyone together makes perfect sense.

But Clarke is dreading it.

She's dreading it more than she dreaded the tense negotiations that brought them here. At least tense negotiations are her speciality – but she has no expertise at all in the area of _having fun_. That has been made quite clear to her, before now, and spending six years alone with Madi down here certainly hasn't helped her to perfect her social skills.

She genuinely wonders about trying to get out of it, even though she knows it would look odd if the woman who took the lead in cementing this deal wasn't present to celebrate it. She considers saying she needs to stay home with Madi, but it transpires that Gaia has arranged a kind of kids' area of the celebration, where they will dance with each other far away from the drinks. She wonders about using her old bear trap injury as an excuse, claiming that she can't really dance or stay on her feet for too long. But that would be a lie, and she knows that it's a thoroughly inexcusable thing to lie about.

So it seems she will go to the ball.

…...

She thinks she has it planned. She'll show up, blend into the background in her usual black leather, stick close to the edge of the crowd, stay the minimum time to be polite, head home early.

Simple.

But then Raven corners her.

"Here." Raven says briskly, shoving a package towards Clarke's unwary chest.

Clarke startles, catches the mysterious item her former friend is thrusting at her. "What's this?" She asks, puzzled.

"A dress. Blue. Should look good on you." Raven swallows. "To say – you know. Thanks for peace. And maybe we could move on from what happened before you made the deal."

"I'm sorry." Clarke gasps on reflex. She's said it a hundred times, it feels like, but she'll say it a hundred more. "I didn't mean to -"

"I know. Take the dress, Clarke. We're good."

They're not _good_. So much is obvious. They are perhaps, at best, no longer bad. And now it seems Clarke is backed into something of a corner, hugging a bundled-up dress that she has to wear. Because if she doesn't wear it, that will look like a rejection of Raven's peace gesture.

Fine. She'll wear the dress. It's probably quite a nice one – Raven has taste, in as much as anyone can have taste in a post-apocalyptic hellscape. But she's not going to make herself ridiculous by trying to _dance_. Dancing is for people who have friends, and partners in particular.

And all Clarke has is her precious daughter and one pity-gratitude dress.

…...

When the night of the ball rolls around, Clarke puts on the dress. Sure enough, it's a pretty great dress. She might even use the word _beautiful_ , but she's not very comfortable with standing around and admiring her own reflection so she moves on. She hates looking in mirrors, as a general rule. Mirrors remind her that she looks old and tired and lonely. That she doesn't look like the smiling girl Bellamy used to teasingly call _Princess_ , these days.

She sees Madi safely into Gaia's care. The girl already seems to have hit it off with some of the Wonkru novitiates, and is evidently keen to dance the night away. That must be nice, Clarke thinks. To feel youthful and enthusiastic, rather than only attending parties out of duty.

She leaves her daughter and heads to the adults' side of the celebration. The moonshine is already flowing, judging by the loose limbs of the dancers she can see. She squints at the dancefloor, tries to read the ebb and flow of people. She's been so caught up with Madi's safety and her mother's addiction, of late, that she hasn't had much time to analyse the changing relationships and social groups since Praimfaya. It seems like Jackson and Miller are together now, for example. And that's good news – of course it is – but somehow Clarke hasn't quite got round to congratulating them yet.

There are other shifting relationships that have not passed her by. She still hasn't forgotten the sight of Echo and Bellamy kissing in the desert, nor the way that Echo seems to be Raven's particular friend, these days. Clarke has no right to be jealous about either of those things, of course – _I've got you for that_ and _I'd pick you first_ are not exactly undying promises of love and friendship.

But in her youthful naivety, she once thought they were.

She shakes her head, stops trying to make sense of the swaying crowd. She heads over to Indra, who is standing stiffly at the side of the crowd.

Clarke likes that. It makes her feel like she's not so alone.

"Indra. How are you?" They haven't really spoken much since Praimfaya, outside of urgent business.

Indra starts, frowns at Clarke. "I'm well. You?"

"Fine." Clarke lies brightly.

"You should be dancing. This is a day for you young people." Indra suggests, eyes on the crowd.

Clarke snorts. She doesn't feel very young. But it's kind of Indra to point out that, biologically at least, she is.

"I'll dance if you dance." She challenges the straight-faced warrior. If she doesn't dare tease Indra today, when will she? If ever there was a moment, this must be it.

"I don't dance since I lost Gaia's father." Indra says, tone carefully level.

 _I don't dance since I lost everyone_ , Clarke thinks.

She fishes around for something to say. Should she offer her sympathies? She thinks it's an old loss, but she knows better than anyone that those can still hurt. Should she -

"Having fun yet, Princess?" A warm voice teases, right in her ear.

She jumps a mile. Of course she does. That's a perfectly reasonable reaction to having some guy suddenly pop up at her shoulder.

OK. Maybe she's also a little on edge, these days.

She jolts her neck around, sees that Bellamy is the new arrival. Of course he is. She spins back to find that Indra is walking away, then clasps her hands together, desperate for a bit of composure, and wonders what the hell to do and say now.

"Good party." She offers, flat.

Bellamy frowns. "Not sure how you worked that out, hiding over here. Come on. Get a drink and join the fun."

"I'm not hiding." She lies.

He steps a little closer. He looks down, meets her right in the eyes. She thinks she might have forgotten how to breathe.

"You _are_ hiding. And I get it, really I do. But how about you come and at least _try_ to have fun?"

She needs to breathe. Breathing. She can do breathing.

"Come on, Clarke. Your friends have missed you. And it's basically a crime to hide away over here when you're wearing that stunning dress."

She gulps. Bellamy thinks her dress is _stunning_? Should he be saying that, when he's dating Echo and all?

Probably it's fine. He didn't say anything about what _she_ looked like. He was only complimenting the dress – complimenting his good friend Raven's taste, in effect.

She nods carefully. She doesn't entirely believe that her friends have missed her, but it's a nice thought. She could pretend it's true, just for a few minutes. It might be pleasant to pretend that people care about her. She nods once more, makes a start on walking over towards Raven on the other side of the crowd.

She's rather startled to find that Bellamy takes her hand to lead her through the throng of people. But he's probably doing that for entirely logical reasons, she figures. He's making sure that she doesn't get lost, or run off to betray him again. That's all this is.

Only he doesn't let go of it when they arrive. Echo's standing right there, amongst all Bellamy's family from space, and yet he doesn't let go of Clarke's hand.

This is incredibly strange.

"Clarke. Drink up." Murphy interrupts her confusion, shoves a drink into her free hand.

"I was right about that colour. It looks good on you." Raven says smugly.

"How's Madi getting on? Is she excited about the kids' party?" Harper asks softly.

Clarke gulps down moonshine. That seems a better idea than bursting into stupid tears from all this sudden attention. She could swear she used to be a more rational woman, before all the loneliness and the stress of caring for Madi all alone.

"Let her breathe." Bellamy chastises them, and Clarke thinks for a moment that maybe, just maybe, she can hear something of his old protectiveness in his tone.

No. Must be her imagination.

"I'm off to dance. Come with me, Raven." Echo says, words clipped. Clarke's not sure whether that's annoyance or just her manner.

Raven does. Huh. Seems like she was right – they are particular friends, these days.

"Don't mind Echo. She's OK really. Just processing the breakup." Harper offers carefully.

Clarke starts. She glances up at Bellamy, then across to Echo, then back again. Huh. Maybe there's a reason he's still holding her hand.

"Breakup?" She asks him softly.

He nods, jaw tight. There's a taut silence. Clarke wonders what the hell she's supposed to say now.

Bellamy saves her, of course. He always does.

"Come on. Are we here to gossip or are we here to dance?" He asks her, tone carefully light. "I've been looking forward to this all week. Knew you wouldn't be able to avoid me tonight."

"I wasn't avoiding you." She says, because she can hear real hurt beneath his teasing words. And it's true – she wasn't avoiding _him_ , as such. She was just trying to keep out of the way of his relationship with Echo.

A relationship that apparently no longer exists.

She summons her courage. "Let's dance." She agrees, nervous but determined.

Bellamy smiles more widely than she's seen him smile in years. It really does light up his face, eyes glowing, mouth falling open in happiness.

"You see? I can be fun." She feels brave enough to tease.

"I never doubted it." He says smoothly, and leads her out onto the dancefloor.

They dance for a while. It's pleasant, in some ways. She likes spending time with Bellamy, of course, and he looks really good as he sways his hips under the shifting lights. She didn't like the beard, at first – she thought it made him look like a stranger. But it's growing on her, as he grins and moves to the beat of the music.

But it's honestly not her favourite activity. She feels so self-conscious, so aware that she doesn't really know what she's doing. There hasn't been much cause for dancing, in her life to date. And she feels smothered by all these people, after so long living here just with Madi.

More than anything else, this isn't what she wants from Bellamy. Sure, he's good looking, and a desirable dance partner. But he's so much more to her than that. She's missed really speaking to him from the depths of her heart, missed hugs and laughter and everything in between. He's her best friend first and foremost, whatever else she might wish he could be. And it's difficult to catch up on missed time on that front, when they're in the middle of a crowded dance floor. It's hardly the ideal location for rebuilding emotional intimacy.

When he leans in to ask if she wants another drink, she sags in relief. That's an excuse to get out of here.

They head to one side of the crowd, grab moonshine from a makeshift bar. Bellamy downs his in one, jaw a little tense, Clarke thinks. She sips hers more slowly.

They don't talk while she drinks.

She sips faster. She can't deal with all this awkward silence. Maybe the dancing was better, after all. But she's so desperate to have a proper sit-down chat with Bellamy, to apologise for leaving him, to clear the air between them. And she can't do that while dancing.

It's a mess. It's a confusing mess, just like everything else about their beautiful, chaotic relationship.

At last, she finishes her drink, sets down her glass.

"Great. You want to go dance again?" Bellamy asks, with every appearance of cheer.

Yeah. She thinks _appearance_ is the right word. It's been a while, but she likes to think she can still read him somewhat well. And she thinks that his good mood might be something of an act, after all.

She gathers her courage, takes a risk.

"Honestly? I'd rather get out of here and catch up properly with you. Six years is a long time." She says, eyes on her shoes. They're stupid shoes, her stupid big black boots, because she didn't have any more feminine or formal shoes to go with this annoyingly lovely pity-gratitude dress. She concentrates on that, very carefully, while the silence stretches out.

At last, Bellamy speaks up.

"I'd really like that, Clarke." He clears his throat. "I'd _love_ that. I – I missed you."

Her eyes flicker up to his face, quite of their own accord. "I missed you, too." She tells him, trying not to cry.

She fails. A couple of errant tears escape. She watches, fascinated, as Bellamy slowly raises a hand to brush them softly from her cheeks.

"Come on. Let's get out of here." He murmurs.

And then he leads her away from the bright lights and blaring music, holding fast to her hand.

If there's one consistent theme to this evening, it's that Clarke is left feeling like she doesn't know the script. She doesn't know how to dance, doesn't know how to socialise with her old friends. And she sure as hell doesn't know why Bellamy keeps taking her hand as if it's the most natural thing in the world. It's like he knows something she doesn't, like he's living in a universe where the words they shared that last day before the world burned were not about heads and hearts, not _I've got you for that_.

It's like he's living a life where she just straight-up said _I love you_.

Maybe it shouldn't surprise her. He's always been one for acting from the heart. And she supposes her love is probably painted pretty clearly on her face every time she looks at him.

He leads her to one of the cottages in the village. It's not a large one – three beds, and a handful of bed rolls spread out in between for good measure. Clarke counts carefully, thinks she can figure out what this means.

"You all live here? All your... family?"

"Everyone except you." He confirms, eyes on the floor.

Huh. That's interesting. That seems to confirm that he still thinks of her as family, she figures.

"It must get crowded." She offers.

"Yeah. It's not great. But we're used to living cooped up with each other. We make it work. Even Murphy and Emori seem to be holding it together better than they did in space."

Clarke nods. That's another relationship development she feels she missed.

"But you and Echo are... broken up?" She asks cautiously.

He nods, takes a seat on one of the beds. He gestures to her to do likewise, and she does.

And then she waits.

"We pretty much broke up the moment the peace deal was signed." He says, as if there's a causal link between the beginning of peace and the end of a relationship.

"You did?" She's more curious than she probably ought to be.

"Yeah. We had to." He swallows loudly. "Because that proved you were still _you_ , didn't it? I guess I kept it going with Echo that first week because I wasn't sure I still recognised you. It seemed like you'd changed too much, like maybe – we couldn't be what we used to be. But seeing you march out of that meeting and declare peace was – yeah." He gives a nervous laugh. "That's my Clarke."

She takes a moment to process. Is it as simple as that?

"I betrayed you." She points out. "I left you to die. And now you're saying -"

"I'm saying it doesn't matter to me. It wasn't the act itself that bothered me so much as that – that it felt like you weren't _you_ any more."

"It bothered me." She bites out. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"And I forgive you." He says, because he always does – whether she deserves it or not.

She hugs him. She just gives up on words and leans in, squeezing her arms tightly around him. And in an uncanny repeat of the first hug they ever shared, it takes him a moment to catch up. It takes him a heartbeat too long to believe it's real.

But then his arms are closing around her, and his face is sinking down onto her shoulder, and he's holding onto her like his life depends on it.

Maybe it does, Clarke wonders. In peace or at war, they've always functioned best by each other's side.

"I still can't quite believe I did it." She whispers into his chest. "Madi's so important to me. But I can't believe I let myself forget how important you are to me, too. And all the rest of our friends."

"You know, Clarke – sometimes the only way to make sure everyone you love survives is to use your heart, too." He tells her, half joking reference to the day the world burned, half utterly, gut-wrenchingly serious.

"I've got you for that."

He sighs, a stuttering, slightly amused sound. He squeezes her tighter, presses a soft kiss to the top of her head. And Clarke realises that, maybe, she does know the script after all. Maybe she knew it all along, and just needed to stop overthinking things and let her heart lead the way. Maybe this whole drawn-out reunion could have been so much simpler if she had just held firm to one particular truth.

"I love you." She murmurs, still hugging him tight.

"I love you too." He replies easily.

She laughs a little from sheer relief. "I mean, I knew that. Or I would have done if I let myself believe it. But it's good to hear it said."

"Yeah." He agrees softly.

She pulls back from the hug, then. Not because she doesn't love hugging Bellamy, but because she thinks there's something else that needs to be done. She urgently needs to learn how it feels to kiss him at long last.

It feels good. It's as simple as that. His lips are soft and warm against hers, the pressure of the kiss just firm enough to be eager, but light enough to be gentle. And she's definitely a fan of the beard after all – it's a new texture against her face, but she likes it. It's sending tingles straight through her core.

They kiss for a while, but not all night. They have plenty of time ahead of them to catch up on kisses, now.

"You're moving in with me and Madi." Clarke informs him robustly.

"You're sure you're ready for that? After – after what I did to her?"

"Yes. I forgive you." She kisses him briefly on the lips once more. "We're moving on, aren't we? Isn't that what this was about? A new beginning?"

"Actually I think it was about us both running away from that awkward party." He says with a grin.

She laughs, slightly exasperated, but more fond. She'd forgotten that habit of his, the way he makes light of serious issues. Some people might find it annoying, but she loves the way he tries to keep her smiling when the world is falling apart around her ears.

"Come on." She decides, standing up and taking his hand. "We're going back there. I think dancing with you might be more fun now I know you're in love with me."

He smiles warmly, gets to his feet in turn. "And if we're lucky the music might have slowed down by now. We can do that gross thing couples do where they just stand there and hug and sway to the music."

She nods. "And if we don't like it, we can head back to my place and start moving you in."

"Only moving in?" He asks, peevish. "That dress does look pretty great on you, but I'm hoping to find out how you look without it..."

She laughs a warm and comfortable laugh, leans easily into his side. She should have known it would be like this. However grim things get, they make each other smile – that's what they do. So naturally here they are, mere minutes after forgiving each other, and already Bellamy is making frankly clumsy innuendos.

She reaches up for one last kiss, goes to lead the way briskly out of the cottage.

She's looking forward to getting back to the ball.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
